


You're a Song I'd Play Again

by Dysnomiae



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexuality, Assisted Masturbation, M/M, Stringplay, Violinplay, violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:45:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dysnomiae/pseuds/Dysnomiae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt "Asexual!Sherlock/John violinplay. Sherlock is asexual. He's fine with cuddles and his and John's relationship, but nothing sexual. He plays the violin to help John get off." Music-assisted masturbation. Because music is sexy, so is Sherlock, and that's good enough for John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're a Song I'd Play Again

**Author's Note:**

> Super special thanks to Raafling for the prompt, and to Kyther for saving me from epic violinfail. ♥ :)

John looked up to the sound of the violin case snapping open. Sherlock had been pacing in one of his moods again, and John had anticipated this. He had lingered in the room hoping for it.

Sherlock pulled out the bow, tightened it, and began to stroke it with rosin. John leaned back on the sofa, eyes following Sherlock's fingers, holding a cloth of rosin and delicately curled around the strings, rubbing up and down the length of it.

"That is rather sexy," John said without thinking. But then his thoughts caught up to him. He shifted uncomfortably. "Um, sorry."

Sherlock eyed him over his motions with the bow and John found it rather distracting so he looked away. And back. And away again.

John's thoughts were occupied commonly enough by images of Sherlock's finger wrapped around something else. Or of Sherlock sweat-covered and panting as John pounded into him. Or of filling his mouth with Sherlock's cock and sucking until Sherlock grabbed his hair and gasped his name. But of all the exciting things he brings into John's life, Sherlock has gently explained that sex isn't on the list.

Sometimes they sleep together. Laying in the same bed, John wraps his body around his and Sherlock snuggles against him and they fall asleep like that, warm and comfortable. And in the morning John locks himself in the bathroom, biting his fist so he doesn't make noise as he pulls himself to climax. And that's as far as it goes.

Sherlock adjusted the violin under his chin, eyeing John over the scroll of the instrument.

"Nothing to be sorry about." Sherlock slid the bow over a string. The resounding note was long and sweet. "You don't need to hide it from me."

"What's that?"

Sherlock tested the next string but stopped abruptly to tune it.

"Your desire," he said. Sherlock readjusted the instrument under his chin. "You keep apologizing for it, as though you think I'm offended. I assure you, John, I find it flattering."

Sherlock pulled another long, sweet note from the instrument. John nodded, not sure what to say other than "oh. Right. Thanks, I guess," and eyed the delicate motion of the bow. It was so deft and controlled. John imagined that Sherlock would be great at anything with those hands.

"You should be very flattered then," said John, figuring he was pushing his luck. It wasn't a topic they usually brought up anymore; John was careful to avoid it, lest Sherlock become distant under pressure.

Sherlock smiled, and John realized Sherlock was watching him as he worked over the strings. He was eyeing John with those intense, deducing eyes, with his lips tugged up into a little smirk.

"Oh, I am. You flatter me an awful lot, John."

John laughed, nervously scratching his head. "Noticed that, did you?" Sherlock pulled a face that said he'd have to be an idiot to not have. "Right. Of course you did."

The strings had been tested, and Sherlock drew out a series of long, slow notes. The sound danced through the air. It was beautiful.

Sherlock paused. "There is something I am curious about. I think you flatter the violin a bit too."

"I- What?" Sherlock gave him the moment to catch on. "Well, I- yes, I like to listen to you play. You're- quite good."

Sherlock began playing again, drawing sensual sounds through the bow strokes, fingers working deftly along the fingerboard. He focused on John as he played, still smiling lightly. He swayed his shoulders a bit with the music, until his smile was a damn _grin_. John laughed and rolled his eyes.

"You're doing this on purpose. You know it's not nice to _tease_."

The bow came off the violin with a grand arch through the air and pointed at him.

"Don't think of it as teasing, John. Think of it as _encouragement_." Then Sherlock-bloody-Holmes _winked_ at him.

John shook his head and pushed himself off the sofa. "I'm distracting you. I'll go then." Because if he stayed his trousers were going to get a little tighter and John was trying to avoid these embarrassing situations.

"You don't need to leave. That's the point."

That stopped John. Rooted him to the floor. He looked at Sherlock without quite turning fully to face him, not knowing if he dared let his mind go where Sherlock was leading it. He was terrified to let Sherlock see it, in case he misunderstood.

John licked his lips. "'Encouragement', you say?"

"You can start by sitting back on the sofa and loosening your trousers. They're looking a little tight."

John instinctively grabbed his crotch and-- _damnit_ , he was not a teenage boy, he should have more control over himself than this. John closed his eyes for a moment, guilt and shame paralyzing him as much as he wanted to run.

"That's a good way to start, but sitting down first would be more comfortable, I should think."

John's heart leapt into his throat blocking his ability to breathe, and a thin layer of sweat pushed through his skin. Oh god, Sherlock was really doing this. Still uncertain, John slowly took a step back and sat on the sofa. Then he leaned back, and at that point his erection was so very obvious between them that he spread his knees to a more comfortable position. He watched Sherlock who patiently watched him back.

"Are you serious?" John asked, voice low as though he might disturb something fragile in the room.

"Of course." Sherlock raised the bow back to the instrument, and held it still there over the strings, hovering, waiting.

John tried to swallow and couldn't. He moved his hand over the front of his trousers and took a deep, unsteady breath, and as he did so, Sherlock drew the bow slowly over the strings. Sherlock watched him intensely, and John's eyes never wavered from him.

At first John pressed his palm through his trousers, a strong pressure he could rub against. Sherlock's bow slid just as slowly over the strings. John reached for his belt buckle, and began to unfasten it.

"Is this all right?" he asked. Sherlock made a slight movement together with the violin that John took as a yes in place of a nod. He didn't want to seem desperate, but his belt was open and his trousers unbuttoned as fast as he could manage without becoming frantic. He shoved his hand beneath the hemline and grabbed himself.

The music came faster then, and John almost laughed. Sherlock smiled, sharing in his amusement. It was comforting, that although Sherlock wasn't on the sofa with him that they were still sharing in something.

He stroked himself, and the music quickened even more. Sherlock delicately stroked the bow over the strings, up and down, and John's pulse sped; Sherlock's fingers worked cleverly over the violin neck and John's breath wavered; the gentle line of Sherlock's jaw tightened as he held the violin in place beneath his chin and John remembered the taste of him on his lips. Sherlock was beautiful when he played the violin, and the sense of it was overwhelming.

John came into his hand gasping "oh god!" grabbing the sofa edge and pumping his hips up, squeezing tightly until he he'd worked himself. With a deep breath he collapsed into the sofa. Sherlock kept playing, slowing to a low, relaxing melody that made John feel as though Sherlock were trying to lull him to sleep. John closed his eyes for a moment, letting the endorphins and music course through his body. Sherlock played for another minute before coming to a slow, gentle end, and released the bow. The room felt rather empty, John thought, without the music.

Sherlock set the violin down. He wasn't _grinning_ , but John suspected Sherlock was only barely holding it back behind that smirk.

"God," John said again, still breathless. "That was... amazing."

"Yes," said Sherlock. "I thought so too.

"Really?" John was rather skeptical about that. "You just... played the violin. You do that all the time."

Sherlock _did_ grin then, looking prideful and smug. He gently set down the violin and bow, and walked toward John, stepping over the coffee table to get to him. He braced his knees on the sofa edge on the outside of John's hips, and leaned down. Sherlock's lips were soft, slightly chapped, and incredibly welcome against his own.

"I thought you didn't like kissing," John said after Sherlock pulled out of it, feeling a little light-headed and entirely content.

"I like that you like it."

John decided to milk this, and kissed him again. But he also pulled back first this time, his hands sliding slowly, reluctantly from Sherlock's body. Space, he remembered.

"That was some _great_ music," John said emphatically as Sherlock moved off the sofa, back to his violin. "Was that new?"

"Oh yes." Sherlock smiled _impishly_ at him as he picked up his instrument. "Though I think I could practice it more later, if you're up for it again."

*

[End]


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